Betrayal
by Fire2
Summary: Ripped from a safe home and thrown into the harsh world of the Imperial Guard, you realise that not everything you have been told is true and that you have been betrayed.


Betrayal

It was here, on this very spot that I finally realised the betrayal. So obvious now that I was astounded that I never noticed it before. And the bitterest pill is that the lie was on my very lips and the lips of all I knew. Or those I thought I knew. But not anymore, they still believe, believe in the lie that was told to them by people who thought themselves our betters, yet hide under a veil of piety so we would swallow their words as though they were sweet and honeyed. And listen we did, allowing ourselves to suckle on their oratory as though it would give something in return for our attention. But in truth, it gave us nothing, nothing but subjugation, pain and torment. All this under the pretence that there would be something better for us if we endured this without question. But that is far far from the actuality of it. And it is here and now that I realise it. Here on the battlefield that I died.

Like so many of them, we joined the crusade for honour and glory. Steeled by the preachers that came to tell of the enemy and the glory that we could achieve in His name. And the glory we could win for ourselves if we believed. But for them, belief wasn't enough. Nor was piety or anything like what they were supposed to live by. The only way we could show our unflinching loyalty was to take up arms and join them on their crusade as their army. As warriors of the light to cast out the darkness from every corner of our homes.

Cannon fodder more like. They wanted us not to fight, but to clog up the enemies guns and strongholds with our dead so that we could 'win' victory so they could live in comfort and decadence, all the while the common men and women throw their lives away for lip service promises should they survive. But they know that most wouldn't. Most would perish under the weapons of the enemy and so get nothing. Not even a grave for their bodies. They'll be left to rot in the open, left for the carrion crows to pick their bones clean. This is what they signed up for in truth. Death without a thought, no more important than vermin.

Yet, join we all did. As they asked us who was with them in their holy cause, we all threw up our arms and shouted our reply:

'Aye!'

We cheered at the thought; to be part of something greater that we were as people. To be part of something that had some meaning in the bigger pictures of our lives. To be heroes. That was what was promised. We'd be held in high honour and also the ultimate reward should the worst happen. But that was a good thing, for we'd be giving our lives for a purpose and such a sacrifice was richly rewarded for the truly faithful.

We said goodbye to all we had ever known. Saw the peaceful sphere of our home drop away from beneath our feet; almost unnoticed in our joy for what was to come, what we thought was to come. And every one of us got it wrong. True we all harboured our doubts, but in the face of the promises, they were small and insignificant. The Preachers tutored us in what we must believe in and steeled us for what lay ahead.

What came next? Hell doesn't quite seem the right word of it. Hell would have been preferable to what we had to endure. 'Training' they called it. And on some level, I guess that it is, but it was much more than that in reality. Training to kill, to destroy, and to die. They broke us. Tore us away from our normal way of life. Ripped from any form of civilisation that we had built for ourselves to be moulded into something less than we were. To be killers. To be robotic murderers that would obey without question. To give our very lives on the whims of people that weren't even there to witness what is was we were giving our lives for.

We were nothing at the point. No, we were less than nothing. Treat like scum, like the very things we were told that we were supposed to crush. And in truth, for the vast majority of them, that would never change. Nor has it changed for me.

The torture was relentless, day in, day out. A constant oppressive torment to make us useful in the eyes of our commanders. Many were found lacking in someway, though I could not see how myself. Men could not take it, the abuse, the punishment, and the 'existence'. Some took their own lives and I think I envied them for their convictions. For I knew that I could not do that, no matter how despicable things got. They knew they could not succeed at this and so found a way out of it on their own terms. Though our 'superiors' reviled those who did.

'Worthless' they were called 'Losers' 'Cowards, not fit to breath nor sully the rest of this with their black stains of dishonour.' We were told that they got nothing for what they did, lives and souls wasted when they could have been put to better use. Others who were found to be lacking got a much less quiet removal.

In the name of false faith and for a vast amount of people I have never met or known, I have faced a number of things that would have reduced many to pieces, but none of these horrors can compare to our training at the hands of bullies and tyrants with the 'conviction' of what they believe to be the right course of action on their lips.

Nothing can surpass the sight of their power played out for all to see as if they have a right to do that. It sickened me then that such things should happen and it sickens me to know that they are so blind and stupid to believe that they are doing the right thing.

We stood and watched it happen, the first time, but by no means the least, etched into my memory forever as if burned into the backs of my eyelids with a laser. And for what? For the slightest of grievances. For a tiny thing that could have easily have been nothing, but blown out of all proportion. And all because someone a trillion miles away decided that they could have the power to dictate to us. It was supposed to teach us a lesson, and for me it did. But not the lesson they wished me to learn.

To watch a dear friend die at the hands of the enemy is one thing, but to see your commanding officer strike them down as though they were the vilest of enemies is something totally different.

Members of the commissariat are never well liked when they arrive on the scene; I know that I cursed and damn their very existence with every fibre of my being, and I am certain I am not the only one who wishes a fate worse than death on this scum. They were despised by all and much much more than the rampaging hordes that seeks out our very blood and entrails for their debased rituals.

One look at their self-important swagger, their unfounded heirs and graces made my blood seethe in my very veins and my skin crawl worse than any Chaos-infected mongrel can.

We were told they were sent to inspire us, the men they are here to command, inspire us to what exactly? The very idea is a mockery in itself. A cruel and twisted joke that even the enemy couldn't quite top that if they tried.

Our superiors told us that they were to inspire us to achieve our goals and great acts of heroism. But that was so very wrong. Like everything else they were nothing a tool, a blunt rusted tool that makes the wounds that causes fester and rot. A way of making us disposable in their schemes, to prove a meat shield between their own worthless hides and the enemies fire. To grind the very deceit we were supposed to love onto our lips forever. They were there to terrorize us into utter and total submission so that all we would do was what we were told, not matter how ridiculously insane to order was. They crushed us into having only one response.

'Yes sir!'

Drove us down deep into the ground by the very blood of my friends and comrades.

Sirith, ever my antagonistic. Never one without the other. Always together, never apart. Almost one and the same. Like a brother to me back in our carefree days, before life degraded and crumbled into a mere existence at the hands of other. Yet even in the face of our torment and torture, he still managed a smile and a joke to try and lighten my heavy mood. But like all things in this place, it had no place here and was never meant to be. It simply couldn't, any ray of light had to be crushed out of us. We had to see only the black so that if we were lucky enough to truly see 'the light' that was promised us; it would dazzle us, leading us forward.

More like blind us, burn our eyes from our very skulls so we would not see their fabrications for what they truly were, groundless, ridiculous, and empty. And so have to be lead by the hand to our prodigious doom and destruction instead. Ignorant to the silent peril in our mist that hid behind they so-called 'guarding hand' that lead us.

And so my dear friend was his own inevitable undoing, though he was never to know his almost sprightly nature was totally alien in so loathsome a place and be seen as vile and had to be destroyed.

A tiny breath of fresh air from our home was blown away but the debased hurricane that passed itself for authority. Singled out over an almost barely recognizable smile at the most inopportune of moments that cost a man his life. It makes me want to vomit with utter loathing to think on it. To think about him - My friend.

Examples work best for all to see. And even the most depraved will seek any possible chance to make their examples out of any transgression no matter how small minded and petty they are. And the commissariat do not get more perverse in their 'inspiration'. To drag a man out like he was no more than some soiled, worthless article to be tossed about is as much an insult to anyone. But to me it was worse. To drag my friend around in such a way was a like a bitter affront to me, yet to have done something there would have made matters much more direr for all. So I stayed still. I stood still in line as Sirith was dragged forward in front of the whole squad so that all eyes were upon him.

The commissar barked something to all of us, but I didn't hear a single syllable that past his lying lips. Blood was pounding in my ears, my heart hammering in my chest as though it was going to burst. I felt my face starting to turn red for what was happening in front of my disbelieving eyes. I was deaf to his taunts and jibes to our honour and us. Not that we had much of it, if any from what the officers spat when they referred to us.

I watched Sirith quail under his grip, trying hard not to lash out to free himself, for he knew as well as I that it would be useless. If he had, I am under no doubt he wouldn't have made any difference in the face of the thing in front of him.

He was a skinny thing, wiry and fast but that was no use to him in the grip of that fetid beast. For what it was worth and for his part, my friend did his best and stood his ground even though it was he was terrified. But that foul loathsome monster merely cackled with sickening glee in his very face.

With a truly evil grin, the commissar kicked out at Sirith's legs. Knocking them from underneath him with bone crushing force. Hearing the bile-rising crack as his leg snapped like dry kindling, I saw red at that very moment and stormed forward, fists balled in rage and ready for violence. Ready to break his head on the rockcrete floor. To smash the smug look for his grotesque face. Or at least I certainly would have done had hands not held me back.

I fought like a feral animal against the hands on the squad. I was disgusted in them for holding me back. Traitors they were in my eyes from that very moment. Scum and charlatans not fit to say they were the same people as I was. And all the while, the cackle of pure, unadulterated enjoyment floated over the din to assail my ears with its repulsive sound.

In the madness of my capture at the hands of people I'd mistaken as comrades, I caught a glimpse of the root of his infuriating injustice. He stood there, bold as brass and trice as ugly laughing at me. Laughing as though I was doing this solely for his own, personal entertainment. And it galled me. That he enjoyed all this hurt that he inflicted upon us for no reason at all. Like the way young boys rip the legs off insects for the sheer hell of it.

'SILENCE!' he screamed at us.

The beast rounded on me like I was his favoured prey. I felt the traitorous claws that held be fast falter and then disappear. I was left alone and the Commissar began to stalk forward. I didn't need to look around to see the cowardly wretches of the platoon had taken about five steps back so they could save their own worthless hides. But I wasn't afraid of the pompous swine.

I stood up tall; a scowl of disgust written plainly across my face at what was going on. At that action, a slight change briefly cross the commissar's face. But only for the most cursory of seconds. Then he's look became almost murderous.

'You dare try break rank, scum?' he hissed at me. 'You dare try to intervene on company punishment?' he grinned. 'You dare have the temerity to strike me?'

The scowl I wore twisted itself tighter on my face as he bore down on my as if I would be intimidated by the foulness of his close proximity.

I opened mouth to spit a retort at his ridiculous questions but before my throat could form a single sound, his vice-like fingers clamped around my throat. And with a look of misplaced triumph on his distorted face he began to choke me. To squeeze the very life from my body as he would some helpless animal.

I grit my teeth and strained against the filthy tyrants hand. He would not kill me; he would not have that satisfaction of bringing about my doom. I snarled as I fought for breath, trying hard to shout something, anything toxic and bitter in his face. But what little of my voice I could muster was stolen away from me by an all too familiar sound.

The distinctive crack/hiss of a las weapon.

At first I thought the scum had become bored of strangling me and shot me instead. After all he believed he have the authority to do that to anyone they wish. The sound shocked me into utter silence. We had only been here a short time and already I knew almost distinctly the sound of the weapons we had been issued.

I glanced down at myself, excepting to see a hole in my chest, cauterised and round. But no such luck. My existence was to go on, to persist in this hypocritical cesspit called the Imperium.

Blood glistened like a precious jewel on the shoulder of the commissar's greatcoat. It's ruddy hues catching what little light filtered down on this infernal pit of misery. Whoever had fired must have either been a truly lousy shot or had fired to get his attention. Unfortunately I suspected the former.

Without releasing his grip on my throat, the commissar glanced at his shoulder, the look on his face showing that he couldn't quite believe it himself. It was quite gratifying to see. Incomprehensibility of what had just occurred. That someone could raise and fire a weapon at him must have seemed like a total impossibility to his deluded mind.

He began to shake with rage, throwing me around as though I were nothing more than a rag-doll shaken by an insolent child in a foul temper. It was then I saw the poor doomed fool who had pulled the trigger. I was unsurprised.

Lying on the ground, looking increasingly pale as shock started to set in as well as the pain from the break, Sirith was propped up with his las pistol still raised and smoking. I so wished I could shout him a warning. Tell him to run, to get out, and to spare his life. But it was pointless. Even if he hadn't have been unnecessarily crippled, and I was able to shout a warning, it probably would have put both our heads in the noose for something I certainly would not have considered a crime. The destruction of tyranny was supposed to be one thing the members of the Imperium were meant to be free of.

And if I had had have the power of foresight, I would have tried to call out. Warned him, fought harder against the animal that held me. Even tried to finish the scum off myself for what he had done for no discernibly logic reason. Anything to saved me for the torment that I was yet to endure at his hands.

With a roar of unbridled hatred, the commissar threw me to the ground. I hit the rockcrete hard and blacked out for a moment. Allowing the blackness to embrace me. To take me away from this desolate and hateful place. And part of me wished that I would never wake. To stay here in oblivion was indefinitely preferable to that life. Yet my blood screamed out for revenge.

When I came too, people I didn't know were callously manhandling me onto my feet. The same thing was happening to Sirith, yet, unlike myself he did not fight his captures. He knew his life was over at that moment and so felt there was no reason to postpone inevitable. Nor to give in to their plot to make him descend into utter panic and degrade himself.

It made sense. After all, this was still all just part of the example making process for the moronic individuals who could not see what our superiors for the nasty pieces of filth they are. They wanted Sirith to fight. To show the others that it was impossible to win against them, no matter how hard you may struggle. But Sirith would deny them that one small satisfaction. He would not fight or beg for his life.

I was much less co-operative. I thrashed and jerked, shouted and screamed every obscenity I knew. But all that got me was a smack around the mouth from one of the men clutching me arm so tightly my fingers were starting to go numb.

'Shut up!' he hissed at me and followed it up with a savage backhanded swipe. It wasn't supposed to hurt. It was meant as an insult. A blow used to silence an unruly child that would not do as it was told. Or a disobedient animal. The blow was sharp and quick, stinging my cheek. But it did its job; it silenced me for a moment from the shock of the strike.

Then I heard it. The malicious tones of the commissar as he addressed everyone, a look or great triumph on his face. I knew what he was to say. After all, we were bidden to read and learn every word of our Primer and there could be only one out come of what had just happened.

'Under article 3680/35k of the Principals and Regulations of the God-Emperor's Imperial Guard, it clearly states for this transgression, drawing a weapon upon a superior officer with the intention of inflicting violence upon him is punishable only by death.' The Commissar stated with the over-exaggerated air of superiority. 'These….pieces of spineless filth' he indicated to both Sirith and myself 'have contravened said article though they knew full well the consequences of their actions.'

He started to pace backwards and forwards in front of the platoon, booming every word for the whole training ground to hear, which by this point in time was as silent as a grave world where the tiniest of whispers could easily be heard.

The wound of his shoulder still glistened slightly and has he marched in front of his, showing it off as though it were a great trophy. His bloated chest was puffed out like some massively oversized swamp-dwelling amphibian. No doubt the ignorant buffoon thought it made him look even more imposing and threatening.

'Never, in my long career in his glorious majesty's Guard have I witness such despicable behaviour in two of it's recruits. Nor in an entire platoon, for this blame falls squarely upon you all. For all you miserable maggots should have spotted such disgusting behaviour and reported it immediately.'

At these words, I felt eyes boring into the back of my skull from some of the others, undisguised hatred evident in the air. It was like an over-powering stench that I couldn't ignore. The rest, I almost heard their jaws drop in utter disbelief at what had just been said. Then after a moment, I felt their burning gazes on my back when the realisation that this wasn't a joke set in. Joining with the others as though their stares could kill me and stop them from being punished.

By this time, I could no longer hear what the wretched cur said, I was furious to the point of apoplexy and heartily renewed my fight to get to him and beat the words back into him, along with his face. How he even dared say such things, I found baffling in the extreme. But worse was to come.

With a look of pure, unadulterated evil and unmitigated pleasure he announced his sentence. 'If such an actions to have been allowed to occur, you shall all be flogged for your abominable laxity in this matter. And for that, you have your 'friends' to thank' he exclaimed with as much venom as he could.

'You!' he pointed at me 'you shall be flogged to within an itch or your life and then branded for the gutless coward that you are. You will bolster this platoon to work harder to erase the stain of dishonour that has been flung across it. With a living example of stepping out of line in their mist, they will not step out of line again and nor will you. For every failure you commit, all will be punished.' He smirked at me, but I was too far-gone to properly take in what was going on.

It was truly unbelievable. I felt as though I was dreaming. Yes, that was what it was, all just a dream. A nightmare concocted by me unconscious mind as I lay on the floor from being thrown there. It had to be. But I was so desperately wrong. Next he rounded on Sirith.

Sirith was now white in pallor, though the reason for it, I could only guess at. 'Recruit, I pass sentence on you now.' He had a look of a cat that had just caught a huge mouse and thought it best to play with it first before delivering the killing blow. 'You will not be shot, as the Primer suggests. As I have already said, never before have a seen such diabolical things in any regiment I have served in.' to emphasise his point, though the emphasis only proved how much of a fool he was as it only accentuated the total irony of his words, he kicked Sirith's broken leg, making his scream out in pain.

With a foul simper he continued 'I most certainly do not wish it to happen again! You are to be hung by the neck until you are dead and so' he laughed quietly to himself 'as an example and reminder to all, that my authority is second only to that of the Emperor himself, you corpse will left out and not be buried'

Sirith's face dropped. On our world, not to be buried was a thing on total nightmare.

'Your body will be left on view for all to see rot. To see canker that cowardice brings' His mocking laugh rang out again. He knew that our beliefs were such that to be left out for the carrion birds to devour was assign of ultimate shame.

'Take them away' he shouted, waving a dismissive hand has though we were nothing to be concerned about.

Physical pain is something that you can learn to deal with. Hide it, suppress it, control it or learn to like it, but never let it conquer you. We learnt that on our home planet early in life, as most do. And I learnt it as well as anyone. Physical pain I can deal with and so I took my licks like a man. On my feet and never once did I cry out no matter how hard they beat me. Nor did I beg for mercy, for them to stop, not even when the pain and blood loss got so bad that I collapsed. Physical pain can be controlled that must I am certain of. It's the emotion pain that cuts the deepest.

Forever will that image be burnt into my mind like the brand that was given to my flesh on that day. A horror that can never truly be realised by anyone who has never seen it for themselves. I have seen the people I know murdered in front of me, but never before or since have I witness a friend's life tossed aside so carelessly.

As they flogged me, I was forced to watch the death of my friend. To stand and bare witness to the atrocities that are carried out in the name of so-called divine power as a lesson to all. I watched Sirith hung like some common petty criminal and all because he had the moral dignity and courage to stand up against the tyranny of the Commissariat.

The rope snapped tight but he was not granted peace from this life of degradation so easily. The fall and sharp stop did not break his neck and so we looked on as he choked to death. All the time I demand that I did not cry out or vomit at the scene before my eyes.

The life slowly drained from my dearest friend and I was truly left alone in this universe. For the first time in my life I was terrified. The one thing of the old life was snatched away from me and I felt myself tumble forward and sink into the quagmire of despair. But that was not the last of it.

Every day we would be paraded past Sirith's body as it rotted, myself included after receiving only the minimal about of care needed for the injustice done upon me. We marched past and had to salute his decaying corpse as though it were some holy icon. So we would remember the price of insurrection and disobedience.

This was the most abhorrent thing for all of us. Not to return our dead to the ground so that others might live from their flesh. To watch the carrion crows feast and grow fat off Sirith's flesh. But my torment was just beginning.


End file.
